"You will have to do with £500,000 for the present," the chairman said. "There are sure to be applications. You must be diplomatic; festina lente, you know."
"If I could keep open straight away until——"
"Madness. Keep to your regulations. Close at four o'clock. Delay is everything."
The big clock in the room boomed the hour of four. It was as if some long-drawn mental agony had suddenly ceased.
The manager of the South African Industrial fought his way back to the offices with a little comfort at the back of his mind.
There was a lull in the roar as he appeared. He took advantage of it. His courage had come back to him now.
"Close the doors," he said sharply. "It is past four o'clock."
A cashier whipped a revolver out from a drawer.
The mob yelled its protest. A big man climbed over the trellis along the counter. Just for a moment it looked like a lawless riot, but a cashier whipped a revolver out from a drawer, and as the big man looked down the blue bore his courage failed him. There was no further rush, but at, the same time there was no disposition on the part of the crowd to retire.